


What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise

by becauseitwasreal



Category: Event Horizon (1997)
Genre: (but not explicit), Blood, Body Horror, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, some dark thoughts here in general, this film is it's own warning, this is a very dark fic guys what were you expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:18:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becauseitwasreal/pseuds/becauseitwasreal
Summary: D.J. was never a soldier. He had never learned how to fight, only how to heal. How to save. And both of them were now beyond saving.





	What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise

**Author's Note:**

> “If I am mad, it is mercy! May the gods pity the man who in his callousness can remain sane to the hideous end!” - H.P. Lovecraft

He closed his hand around the knife. Whatever Weir may have taken from him, from the crew, it would stop here. He didn’t know what had happened, but he trusted Miller more than he trusted the doctor. At first he’d liked the man. He came off as a bit strange, kept to himself, but then again, most people probably thought the same of D.J. He slowly turned around, scanning the room for any activity, when –

Shit. Before he even registered the fact that Weir seemed to have no eyes, or the blood that covered his face, he felt two strong hands around his neck, crushing his windpipe. He struggled against the man, and tried to kick and claw at him, but it was to no avail. It only seemed to anger the man – or the monster – as Weir threw him against the metal wall. For a terrifying moment he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, but he quickly remembered his training. _In… out… in… out…_

D.J. saw the other man’s boots coming closer and he tried to struggle up as he once again felt the bloodied hands on his skin. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gobbled by blood. If only he knew how to speak to the man. Whatever had gotten hold of him – a strange form of cabin fever, or an actual hell-beast? – couldn’t have taken all of him. The real Dr. Weir had to be somewhere in there. If only he could – if only –

 _Dr. Weir! It’s just me!_ his mind screamed. _I know we’ve never been friends, but we were never enemies. This isn’t you. You don’t want me to die._ He felt tears form in his eyes. He thought he’d been afraid before. He thought he’d been afraid when he almost lost Justin, or when he’d discovered the true meaning behind the previous captain’s words. Or even way back, when he started his training and learned that you can’t save anything, you can’t cure everything. When he learned his father was dying and he wouldn’t be there with him. Before the _Event Horizon_ , what had scared him most was being alone. Losing the people he cared about. Now neither could chill him. It was the company that he feared, and for his own life that he was crying.

_This is me. It’s who I’ve always been._

D.J. didn’t know if he was imagining the words or if Weir was speaking them. They were distant, and yet so close. As if Weir had personally crawled into his veins and was whispering to him from beyond the abyss.

 _I am home_.

He opened his eyes as he felt the metal against his back, and felt cloth being stripped from his body. He was naked on the slab, and his arms and legs were restrained.

 _Weir! Weir!_ He wanted to argue, to talk to the man, to have a rational conversation. The man was a doctor, he was medically trained. Surely he would listen to reason.

Cool on his skin. He was barely able to tilt up his head to see the knife Weir had placed against his chest, and logic was no longer within the realm of possibility. He could only scream.

 _Liberate tutemet ex inferis_.

As he felt the knife cut through his flesh, he finally understood the true meaning behind the words. There was blood on his stomach, blood on his face and even with the counting trick his lungs wouldn’t work any longer. He screamed as the doctor cut him open, as he felt the last fleeting hint of energy leave his body. He was dying. Shit, he was dying. What were you supposed to think about when you were dying? All he could see what Justin’s bloated body, his father’s cold corpse. The mutilated bodies of the old crew, of Peters, Starck and Miller. His eyes widened as they met with Weir’s. _Think, D.J., think for fuck’s sake. For your life._ But he was never a soldier. He had never learned how to fight, only how to heal. How to save. And both of them were now beyond saving.

The last thing he heard was Weir’s voice.

 _Now you’ll never be alone again_.


End file.
